


In Living Memory

by DangerBeckett



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Batfamily Feels, Child Neglect, Explicit Language, Gen, Memory Magic, Minor Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerBeckett/pseuds/DangerBeckett
Summary: When Dick and Jason get a rare peek into Tim's brain, Jason remembers why he stays out of other people's business. With his family, it inevitably ends in either life-threatening injury or Dick singing Disney songs. Sometimes both, if Dick doesn't dodge fast enough.Meanwhile, Tim doesn't see what all the fuss is about. Which is basically the entire problem, as far as Jason's concerned.Ugh. Jason is *concerned.*Next time, he is so staying dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't really fit neatly into any existing DCU timeline, but it does draw heavily on Tim's pre-52 backstory (as all things should). I guess if it helps, you can consider it an AU? But, like, a really insignificant AU?
> 
> Warning: Jason swears. A lot. If there's a way to write Jason Todd convincingly without swearing, I have not found it.

When Dick and Jason finally opened their eyes, they were standing in a lavishly appointed sitting room. An honest-to-god  _sitting room_. Jason wasn’t sure what he’d expected (with the Replacement, you never knew), but this sure as hell hadn’t been it.

The décor was all cream-colored, made up of the kind of incredibly uncomfortable furniture that was picked from a luxury catalog by people paid obscene amounts of money to pick things from luxury catalogs. Without a doubt the room was as ostentatiously wealthy as anything Wayne Manor had. Maybe even more so, Jason thought sourly. At least a few of the rooms in Wayne Manor had been decorated by someone (admittedly probably Alfred) with an eye toward actually putting them to use at some point. This place could have been a mausoleum for all the living, breathing people it must have hosted.

Though maybe the room was used more than it looked; upon a second glance, Jason noticed there was a newspaper sitting on one of the couches. Someone must have been in here fairly recently, assuming the paper was current.

For the moment, however, the room was empty. Jason glanced at Dick, but Dick seemed just as confused as he was. They were probably in the right place; while the room was rich enough to belong in Wayne Manor, it wasn’t a room they’d ever seen before. And since it wasn’t a slum in Crime Alley or the inside of a circus trailer, it couldn’t have been from  _their_  childhoods. So, the million-dollar question: where was the Replacement?

They got their answer (sort of) when a little black-haired boy came running into the room.

“You’ll never get away with your dastardly scheme, Riddler!” the boy announced, and Dick and Jason’s jaws dropped in unison. Because there, in jeans, a Robin t-shirt, and what could only be described as a blanket cape, stood Timothy Jackson Drake, aged somewhere between eight and ten. It was hard to tell, since Tim had never been big for his age. So though the kid looked closer to eight, ten was probably the safer bet.

He was even wearing a homemade domino, Jason noticed, trying desperately not to laugh. Made out of some kind of stretchy nylon material. Were those…black pantyhose?

“I’ve figured out your last riddle,” little Tim continued, brandishing a finger at the couch with the newspaper. “You were leading us straight to Gotham National Bank! But we would never fall for so obvious a scheme.”

Jason and Dick looked on, eyes bugged out of their heads, as mini Tim dropped the persona. He frowned and shook his head. “No,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve already used ‘scheme.’ I need something better. What would Jason say?”

Jason felt Dick’s gaze turn to him, but he couldn’t look away. Tiny Tim (that was it, that was his name now) was a little endearing and a little obsessed and a lot hilarious.

“Probably something witty,” Tiny Tim continued, getting frustrated now. “And Dick would have, like, ten different puns ready. I can’t think of a better word for ‘scheme,’  _and_  I didn’t even work in ‘fiend’ that time!”

His miniature face scrunched in frustration as his miniature foot shot out and kicked the leg of the couch. It made a sound like a car door slamming. Which was definitely  _not_  a normal sound for a couch leg to make, and it took Jason a second to realize the noise had come from outside.

Tiny Timmy (nope,  _that_  was it,  _that_  would be his name now) was quicker on the uptake than Jason, however. His head shot up, and he tossed the mask and the cape behind the couch in a very practiced gesture. He grabbed the newspaper and threw himself down hard on the couch, which must have been pretty damn hard, because the kid yelped like hell and jumped up again. Apparently those things really  _were_  as uncomfortable as they looked, Jason mused.

Rubbing his backside, Timmy carefully maneuvered himself back onto the couch and opened the newspaper, doing a very credible impression of an obedient little boy calmly perusing the events of the day.

Jason caught sight of the front-page headline:  _Joke’s on Him: Riddler Puzzled by Dynamic Duo’s Brilliance Once Again!_

“I remember that,” Jason murmured to Dick, even though there was no reason to keep his voice down. “Bruce and I rolled our eyes at breakfast when we read it, because seriously, Riddler, not Joker, _Gotham Gazette._ Get it right. But I was so proud when Alfred cut out the article and hung it on the fridge. It was one of my first big busts as Robin. I really did figure out his last riddle.”

Dick smiled. It was half sweet, half melancholy, like it always was when Jason mentioned something good from the Robin days. “How did the paper know you were the one who solved it?”

Jason thought back. “They didn’t. At least, they didn’t mention it in the article. If I’m, ah, remembering it right. It was a long time ago. Obviously.”

Dick’s smile turned a little more knowing, but thank god, the sound of a key in the front door distracted them before Dick could try to drag him into a bonding moment. (Dickie’d been getting that look, the one that meant you’d just be getting more hugs later if you ran away now.) Tiny Timmy peeked at the doorway over the top of the paper, worrying his lip slightly before he ducked back down. The kid looked awfully apprehensive about just sitting in a room, reading a newspaper. Maybe his folks thought the content was too risqué for a maybe-ten-year-old? Though the apprehension, coupled with the kid rubbing his ass...

“Timothy!” shouted a woman as the door banged open.

Timmy let out a squeak that Jason would swear to his (second) dying day wasn’t nearly as adorable as it sounded, but the kid’s voice didn’t shake when he replied, “I’m in the front room!”

A short, stout woman with graying hair appeared in the doorway, the thunderous look on her face faltering at the sight of Timmy sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. “This room is supposed to be locked.”

Timmy gave her a brilliant smile, the kind that  _totally_  wasn’t hiding anything. It was weird to see it on the future Replacement, who was second only to Bruce in poker faces. This Tim couldn’t have lied his way out of a paper bag.

“The cleaning staff opened everything to air it out. They’ll be back tomorrow to clean and lock it again. Don’t worry, though, I’m not messing anything up,” Timmy promised brightly. “What are  _you_  doing here, Mrs. Davies? I thought you were flying to Denver today.”

“That was the plan,” the woman said dryly, her thunderous look back with a vengeance.

Timmy gulped, but his smile didn’t waver. He held up the newspaper. “Did you see the Riddler was foiled again?”

“The Riddler?” Mrs. Davies repeated, incredulous. “The Riddler? Do you think I came all the way across town, mere  _hours_  before I’m due to board my plane, to talk about  _the Riddler_?”

At last Timmy’s smile dimmed a little, but he rallied. “If you’re here to check on my reading of  _Great Expectations_ , I’m afraid I’m not quite through it yet, but I’ll certainly be finished by the time you get back—”

“No, my dear Timothy, I am not here to discuss Charles Dickens with you either.” The woman was clearly angry, but she wasn’t making any threatening moves toward Timmy, and even if she were, they couldn’t do anything about it. But that didn’t help Jason relax. Angry adults around little kids always put him on edge, no matter how unreasonable it was.

Dick seemed to understand, though, because he took a reassuring step closer. Of course they couldn’t actually touch each other, but Jason saw Dick’s hand twitch nonetheless. Jason scowled at his older brother and tried to pretend the thought hadn’t made something warm flare in his chest.  _Very_  briefly.

“You know why I’m here,” Mrs. Davies went on, oblivious to their audience. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned Timmy with the sternest look Jason had seen since he’d stolen Batman’s tires.

He could see Timmy’s gears turning. The future Replacement had an expression Jason knew well: he was mentally cataloging all the stuff he’d done that could get him in trouble and trying to remember if anyone had caught him at any of it.

“Um, you’re here because someone called you?” Timmy hazarded. His eyes darted to a camera case sitting on an end table, and Jason and Dick smirked at each other. The kid’s paranoia apparently predated his relationship with Bruce.

“ _Yes_ , because someone called me!” Mrs. Davies threw her hands up in exasperation. “And do you know who that someone was?”

Again, Timmy was plainly searching. “Hopefully not Commissioner Gordon?”

“Not…no, not Commissioner Gordon! Why would Commissioner Gordon be calling me?” Mrs. Davies demanded. Her eyes narrowed. “Is there some reason Commissioner Gordon would be calling me?”

“Of course not!” Timmy said immediately. “It’s just, it seemed serious, since you rushed over here. I thought maybe something had happened to Mom and Dad.”

He very clearly did not think that. They were the magic words, though. Mrs. Davies visibly deflated.

“Oh, no, dear. Not at all. I didn’t mean to worry you. Your parents were the ones who called me. Well, their business manager. He wanted my mother's phone number in case he needed to reach me.” The older woman pulled herself up again. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me your parents were going to be back late?”

Timmy cocked his head, puzzled. “You’re going to Denver to visit your mother.”

“Well, yes, eventually, but I’m not going to leave you here alone! Do you think my mother would forgive me for leaving a boy your age to fend for himself? No parent would ever condone such a thing!”

Timmy just blinked at her, unconvinced.

She sighed. “I’ve decided to delay my trip until they’re back—”

“No!” Timmy cried, jumping out of his seat. “Your mother’s operation is next week. She needs you! I can take care of myself, but she’s sick; you said yourself she couldn’t walk, and what if something goes wrong? Your sister can't take that much time off. No, you need to be there. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

She sighed again. “Timothy, I know firsthand how… _resourceful_  you can be, but you simply cannot stay here by yourself. My sister can certainly take off until Friday.”

Timmy’s face lit up. “They’re coming back on Friday?”

“They didn’t tell you?” Mrs. Davies said, surprised. “The Friday after your birthday, they said. That should be the end of this week, right? Oh, I hope I didn’t have your birthday wrong. If so, I wish you would have said something.”

Timmy visibly crumpled. “No,  _you_  don’t have it wrong,” he muttered. Then, louder, he added, “No, you’re right. It’s just that my parents already took care of it. That’s why they didn’t say anything to you, and why they told me not to bother you with it. My uncle’s coming to get me tomorrow and take me to his house. Mom and Dad will pick me up there when they’re back.”

For the first time, Jason looked away to address Dick. “The Replacement has an uncle?”

“He’s never mentioned one. I don't remember seeing an uncle in his files, either.” Dick shrugged. “Maybe it's an honorary title? Or maybe the uncle died before he became Robin?”

Jason studied the little boy in front of them. “Maybe.”

Mrs. Davies was equally as skeptical.  “Your parents didn’t mention your uncle at all.”

“They probably forgot. You know how they are when they have a new dig coming up.” Timmy forced a laugh that sounded unnaturally natural on an elementary schooler. “Anyway, I’ve stayed with him lots of times when they’ve had to extend their trips, remember? He’ll be by tonight.”

“Tonight? I thought you said he was picking you up tomorrow,” said Mrs. Davies suspiciously.

“No, we  _leave_  tomorrow. He’s staying here overnight, so we don’t have to drive in the dark,” Timmy explained, a little too quickly.

Mrs. Davies didn’t seem impressed. “I’m going to need to speak with this uncle—”

Before she could finish, a phone started ringing further into the house. Timmy all but sagged in relief.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Timothy. That’s probably for me. I told my sister to call if there were any updates…” Mrs. Davies hesitated, obviously torn between interrogating Timmy more or answering the phone.

“It’s fine!” Timmy chirped. “I’ll wait here.”

Mrs. Davies pinned him with one last  _you’d better_  look and then rushed out of the room. Timmy waited just long enough for her to disappear around a corner before he bolted in the opposite direction. Jason and Dick followed him through a side door that opened into a small office space. It wasn’t much more than a closet, but it had a desk with an old calendar, an antiquated computer, and a printer. Timmy made an instant beeline for the computer, shoving the desk chair out of the way and jabbing at the power button.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he mumbled impatiently, waiting for the computer to boot up. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting Mrs. Davies to walk back in and catch him. When the computer’s welcome screen at last gave way to the desktop, Timmy called up an e-mail program and clicked on the only message there. It was an e-mail from his mother, judging by the return address ([JanetDrake@DI.com](mailto:JanetDrake@DI.com)), and Dick and Jason watched in horrified awe as Timmy expertly copied the message over, changed the date, and substituted his own text.

“Is he seriously trying to make it look like his mom e-mailed him about his uncle’s visit?” Jason asked Dick, gawking at the screen.

“Sure looks like it,” Dick replied. “He’s even changing the date and putting in contact info for the uncle. Smart, kid, but you’re going to need to change the subject line too—oh, there you go.”

“Why go to all this work?” asked Jason. “That looks like a legitimate phone number he just put in for the guy. Out of Gotham area code and everything. He’s even got it memorized.”

“I dunno,” admitted Dick. “Maybe the uncle isn’t coming until tomorrow, like Tim originally said. He’s trying to put Mrs. Davies’ mind at ease so he can use tonight to follow Batman and Robin around without interference.”

“Didn’t he do that, like, every night? Geez, kid, we need to have a talk about extracurricular activities.”

His mission successfully completed, Timmy hit print, collected the paper from the printer, and hurried back to his spot on the couch in the sitting room. He sat down gingerly and picked up the newspaper sitting next to him. He huffed at the grainy, unfocused image of Batman and Robin fighting the Riddler.

“Don’t give me that look,” Timmy admonished the Batman figure. “You lie to people all the time. You can give me that look all you want when you’re Superman. And  _you_ ,” he said, switching to the Riddler, “ _you_  thought it was smart to put your headquarters in a puzzle factory. I’m not listening to any lectures from a grown man who spends his days holed up in a  _puzzle factory_. Okay?”

The paper didn’t respond, but clearly Tim didn’t need it to. He zeroed in on the barely-visible shadow of Robin in the picture, where Jason knew he was hiding behind Bruce’s cape. “It was worth it,” Timmy said softly, tracing Robin’s outline with his index finger. “I  _needed_  the darkroom. I couldn’t risk people peeking at my photos at school anymore. Besides, they were going to go to Peru anyway. I saw the tickets before they left. I just used it to my advantage, like in chess. A nanny for a darkroom. That’s what you would have done, right, Jason?”

Neither the real Jason standing in front of Timmy or the black-and-white Jason shadow in the paper had an answer for him.

Timmy hunched his shoulders around the newspaper and murmured, “It’s no big deal. I’ve done it for longer. I’ll be fine.”

Whatever Timmy was trying to convince himself of, it didn’t look like it was working. At least, not until they heard shuffling coming from outside the sitting room again, and then Timmy was sitting ramrod straight, an expression of polite concern painted on his face.

“Is everything okay?” Timmy asked, scooting the newspaper under a couch cushion.

“Oh, yes, fine,” Mrs. Davies said distractedly. “I’m afraid things have just been moved up a bit, but it’s nothing to worry about. Now what were we discussing before I left?”

“My uncle coming tonight,” said Timmy smoothly. “I was just about to give you the e-mail from my parents with all the logistics. Here, you can take this copy.”

Mrs. Davies gave it a quick onceover, then nodded and shoved it in her bag. “I still don’t feel right about leaving you without speaking to your uncle first…” She pursed her lips, glancing worriedly at the small desk clock next to her.

“I’ll give you a call as soon as he’s here,” Timmy promised, getting up to gently nudge her toward the door. “I promise.”

“Then again when you reach his house tomorrow?” asked Mrs. Davies, now rummaging in her bag for car keys.

“Like always,” Timmy said with an encouraging smile. “Just concentrate on helping your mother. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

It was word-for-word the reassurance he’d given her earlier, but Mrs. Davies didn’t seem to notice. She gave him a quick pat on the head, then, thinking better of it, knelt to give him a hug. Timmy squawked, awkward and fumbling, and she pulled away before he could do anything about it.

“Be good for your uncle,” she said, then laughed. “Oh, like you’re ever anything but good. Be  _bad_  for your uncle, huh, just this once? Eat birthday cake and ice cream until you’re sick and demand he play Risk with you even though he knows you’ll win, okay? For me.”

“Sure.” Timmy gave her a lopsided grin. “He’ll love that, I’m sure. Say hi to your mom for me. I hope she likes the card.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it. It was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Davies opened the door and gave one last wave. “I’ll see you in a few weeks!”

“Bye!” Timmy called, waving until she reached the driveway. Then he shut the door and leaned heavily against it. “And then there was one.”

He locked the door and went back to the tiny closet office off the sitting room. Jason and Dick followed, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. They arrived in time to see Timmy flip the desk calendar from July to August, where the third Friday had a flight number and arrival time printed in blocky handwriting that resembled slightly-less-tiny Tim’s unreadable scrawl too much to be a coincidence. August 19th had a star and a note in the same handwriting: “ _Be home in case parents call._ ”

“It’s the right  _day_ ,” Timmy said aloud to no one. “They really are getting better.”

After that he knelt carefully on the chair, zooming mindlessly through Minesweeper games on the computer. Jason shot a look of disbelief over at Dick, but Dick just shrugged back, weary and almost resigned.

“Guess we don’t need to ask him about a long-dead uncle,” he said, stepping up until he and Jason were shoulder-to-shoulder. “Come on. We should look for Tim. The real one, I mean.”

“This  _is_  the real one,” Jason pointed out. It came out harsher than he’d meant, and Dick flinched. Jason refused to apologize for it. “Jesus, no wonder the kid’s so screwed up.”

“He is not ‘screwed up,’” Dick said firmly. “Not any more than the rest of us, anyway. C’mon, help me find him.”

Jason wrenched his gaze away from Timmy, but the image of a little boy in a pantyhose mask was hard to shake. “It almost makes you sorry you tried to kill the guy,” he said to Dick as they entered the hallway.

“You’re sorry you tried to kill someone?” asked the grown-up Replacement, suddenly sticking his head out of a side room. He was dressed in his Red Robin suit sans cowl, which was a little odd considering Dick and Jason had appeared in civvies. Even in his own head, the Replacement couldn’t take a day off.

The kid (well, less of a kid than his counterpart, but still a kid) gave them a wry smile as he joined them in the hall. “The Red Hood expressing remorse. I legitimately thought I’d never live to see the day.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, but Jason chuckled despite himself. “It’s a joke, Dickie boy,” Jason explained helpfully. “’Cause of all the times I tried to make him dead, get it?”

“That’s not a joke,” Dick snapped.

“He’s just angry ’cause he’s the only brother who hasn’t gotten a crack at murdering you,” Jason stage-whispered to Tim.

Tim smiled, conceding the point. “There’s still time,” he said mildly.

Dick went red-faced. “It’s not funny!” he roared, taking them both aback.

“Geez, Goldie, chill pill,” Jason said. He held out his arms placatingly. “Not a big deal.”

“Yes, it  _is_ ,” Dick growled. “It  _is_  a big deal. After what we just saw in there, how are you still making your stupid jokes about killing him, you asshole?”

And okay, point to Dick on that one, because the Lazarus Pit only had enough magic goo to heal five of the senses, and sense of empathy wasn’t one of ’em. Jason magnanimously ignored being called an asshole (hey, facts were facts) and was even considering apologizing when the Replacement spoke up.

“What do you mean, ‘what you just saw in there’?” he asked, curious. “Where were you?”

Trust the mini version of world’s greatest detective to pick up on that, Jason grumbled. He and Dick stared each other down, Dick clearly not wanting to answer Tim and Jason just as clearly not wanting to wade into Dick’s mess. Tim waited them out with his arms across his chest, until finally Jason couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s  _your_  memory,” he said. “Don’t you know? Raven said you asked for this one specifically.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “I needed the date, not the specific memory. The records indicated the invitation to the O’Ryan family gala was sent to my parents earlier this week, and this was the only day that week most of the rooms were unlocked. I’ve been searching and searching, though, and I can’t find the invitation  _anywhere_. I could’ve sworn I saw it as a kid, but apparently even Raven’s memory enhancement abilities don’t do any good when you didn’t pay enough attention the first time around.”

The frustrated look and moderate self-loathing on the Replacement’s face was pure Tiny Timmy. If there had been a couch to kick in the hallway, Jason had no doubt it would’ve been surrendering by now. Judging by the way Dick had subtly moved in front of the nearest chair, he agreed.

“I’ll figure it out,” Tim concluded. He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Somehow. Anyway, what are you two doing here? Am I that overdue?”

“Yup,” Jason answered when it looked like Dick wasn’t going to. “Rave said you were approaching the dangerous mark. Didn’t want you getting stuck in your own head, so she called in the cavalry."

"Which means she called Dick..."

"I was there too, so technically she called both of us, smartass. And I thought why not tag along. Say I got to journey to the center of Timothy Drake-Wayne's brain." Jason suddenly felt awkward. "Uh, now that I think about it, probably should’ve called ahead or something. Sorry."

Tim dismissed it. “No problem. It’s not like you’re intruding on anything private.”

The heartsick look on Dick’s face and the way Jason’s stomach twisted uncomfortably belied that statement. Jason decided not to dwell on it. Sucky childhoods were sucky childhoods, and it wasn’t like well-adjusted kids grew up to be vigilantes. His parents might be gone, but at least Tiny Timmy wouldn’t be fending off pedos in back alleys for the next month.

Except then Jason remembered Tiny Timmy’s little nighttime hobby, and he realized maybe he  _would_  be fending off pedos in back alleys, and his stomach gave another lurch. Was it possible to throw up if you were only a mental construct, he wondered?

Either way, probably bad manners to hurl in someone else’s brain.

He and Dick had been silent too long. Less-Tiny Timmy (Tiny Tim? Yes, he could be Tiny Tim) had taken notice.

“Seriously, what’s up with you guys? What did you see before you found me?” Tim’s expression morphed into what Jason had always thought of as his Imitating Batman Thinking Face. All Robins had one. “July 18th, right? I don’t remember anything significant happening…I’d just gotten my darkroom. You guys had fought the Riddler the night before—oh. Oh, god.” Tim’s eyes widened. “Please, please tell me you didn’t walk in on me naked.”

“What?!” yelped Jason at the same time Dick rushed to say, “No, no, definitely no.”

“Oh, good.” Tim’s relief was palpable. “That was the night I slipped coming down a fire escape and landed on my butt the whole way down. I thought maybe I’d mooned you while I was changing the bandages or something.”

Jason gaped at him. “Just, like…what the  _hell_ , kid?”

“What the hell what?” asked Tim, his attention already focused on a stack of papers he’d found on yet another decorative table.

Behind him, Jason could see Dick making frantic gestures to get Jason to shut up, but Jason had never liked people telling him what to do. Dick would’ve had better luck if he’d been encouraging Jason to keep going. Since he wasn’t, Jason ignored him.

“How did no one call child services on you here?” Jason demanded.

Tim laughed. “I wasn’t  _that_ bad a kid.”

“I think he meant on your behalf, Tim,” Dick clarified gently when Jason could only return to gaping at him.

Tim laughed again. “Give me  _some_  credit, guys. I wasn’t going around advertising stuff like that. I took care of it myself. I kept tetanus shots on hand and everything. I probably had the best stocked med kit in Gotham outside of Wayne Manor.”

Dick must have started gaping right along with Jason, because Tim shifted uncomfortably and said, “Okay, now you’re really freaking me out. Is something wrong? Did Raven send you in to get me for something? Because if we need to hurry, you’re wasting an awful lot of time—”

“No, nothing like that, Tim,” Dick said cheerily. Too cheerily, but it was better than the wordless fish impression Jason was still doing. “We came to say B has another lead on the O’Ryan syndicate, so you don’t need to keep poking around in here. In fact, we’re planning a movie night at the Manor, so let’s get out of here and order some pizza!”

“‘We’?” asked the Replacement warily. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me and Jason,” Dick said, looking completely unrepentant as he tried to drag Jason into a one-armed hug. Jason didn’t even have to dodge. Dick’s arm went right through him. He could get used to this, Jason decided.

Dick pouted slightly at the failed hug, but he recovered masterfully. “Dami and B are chasing down that lead, and O’s got her team covering patrol, so it’s just me’n’Jay tonight. And you, if you’re up for it. Whaddaya say?”

“I never agreed to this,” Jason warned, but he was drowned out by the Replacement saying, “Sorry, Dick, but I should really get back to the apartment and check on a few cases for the Titans. Thanks for the offer, though, and maybe another time—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jason muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair even though the action was useless in Crappy Memory Land. Louder, he said, “Raven told us there might be some side effects from this little voyage to the bottom of your brain. Dick’s trying to say we’re all under strict orders to remain at the Manor for observation.  _Alfred_  orders,” Jason added, before Tiny Tim got any bright ideas about arguing.

The Replacement still frowned. “Raven didn’t mention anything about side effects to me.”

“That’s because you weren’t supposed to be in here for hours,” Jason said pointedly, ignoring the surprise he could feel radiating from Dick. “So come on. Time to get outta here and get some pizza.”

“But  _you_  haven’t been in here for hours,” Tim pointed out. That damn frown had only gotten deeper.

“For  _fuck’s_  sake,” Jason swore, “I don’t know, it’s more stressful to be in someone else’s brain or something. Whatever. I don’t care. It’s time for you to literally get out of your own head for a while and come eat some goddamned pizza. Is that too much to ask?”

“I…guess not?” Tim blinked at him, looking so much like his younger counterpart for a second that Jason couldn’t handle it.

“Good,” he said brusquely. “Because if I gotta give up my night, you’re damn sure gonna be listening to Dick sing Disney princess songs right there with me. So go do whatever it is you think you still need to do—don’t even  _think_  about bullshitting me, I  _know_ you’re itching to go back and check out whatever it is we interrupted—and we’ll wait here for you to finish up. Five minutes, baby bird, and not a second longer, or I come in there and I drag you out. By your ear, if you’re very, very lucky. Neither one of us wants that, do we?”

“No,” Tim said hurriedly, already rushing back to the room he’d ducked out of when he’d heard them in the hall. “Five minutes. You got it.”

The Replacement gave a cheeky salute and vanished.

Dick turned to Jason, eyes shining, and Jason took two giant steps back. Not out of fear, fuck you very much, but out of perfectly reasonable self-preservation.

“Don’t say anything,” Jason ordered. He kept cautiously retreating as Dick kept advancing, until Jason hit a wall and found himself trapped. He cursed. Next time he was demanding the non-corporeality extended to walls, dammit.

“There are ‘side effects’?” Dick asked with a grin visible from space.

“Shut up,” Jason growled. “Not another goddamn word.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Not here, you couldn’t. It is physically impossible, even for you.”

“When we get out of here, then.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I have  _guns_  out of here, you know.”

“I’ll immobilize you with strike hugs first.”

Dick leaned in, and Jason sucked in a breath to flatten himself against the wall.

“Not just any strike hugs, Jay,” Dick whispered. “ _Group strike hugs._ ”

He skipped away. Literally fucking  _skipped_ , humming something that was almost certainly off a Disney soundtrack. This was karma, Jason concluded grumpily. He’d tried to kill his family a couple times, and now they were trying to kill him in return. At least he’d had the common courtesy to use bullets. They were using  _hugs_ , the savages.

As Dick traded humming for singing, Jason came to a decision. He might be fated to die a second time, but this time it wouldn’t be alone. If he had to go, he was making damn sure he took a few Bats down with him.

After all, he reasoned, wasn’t Dick always saying he wanted them to do more things as a family?

**Author's Note:**

> It's snowing the first real snowfall of the year outside, and I think it's supposed to make me feel excited (it's beautiful! Look how it blankets the world!), but instead it's making me feel whiny (oh yay physical proof the temperature is below freezing and I *have to go shovel*). It's also my first real winter in ten years thanks to some very successful climate-based life choices, and I haven't adjusted properly yet. I will be excited about snow next year, cheery weatherpeople. I promise. Until then, I'm turning you off and writing angst-fluff about Batman characters to keep my spirits up.
> 
> And thus this post was born! I made a New Year's resolution to stop lurking and start actually contributing to the Internet communities I haunt, so this is my inaugural contribution. I know there's some OOCness here, as there must be when Jason interacts with his family in a positive, non-shooting way, but given the new Detective Comics direction and the 52 rewrites, I figure a little OOCness isn't necessarily a bad thing.
> 
> ...Right?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little slice of OOC Batfam life! I'm off to hunt down a shovel and do battle with a foe infinitely more dastardly than the Riddler could ever hope to be: winter weather.


End file.
